


A little of what you fancy

by AnythingButPink



Series: A little of what you fancy [1]
Category: The Professionals
Genre: First Time, M/M, Mild Kink, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1322833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnythingButPink/pseuds/AnythingButPink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bodie and Doyle get their kink on...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A little of what you fancy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> A series of short scenes inspired by two (of many) fabulous gifsets by troubled_cure...  
> [A first plea for a Pros kink meme...](http://ramesesniblickthethird.tumblr.com/post/78825289456/i-think-this-gifset-should-be-filed-under-i)  
> [... and a second plea, in case we missed the first one.](http://ramesesniblickthethird.tumblr.com/post/79120858185/just-in-case-i-didnt-make-it-obvious-enough-with)

**A very good fit**

Bodie slid his right hand into the snug black leather and squeezed the poppers at the wrist closed. He intertwined his gloved fingers, flexing and pulling for the most comfortable fit.

There was a faint moan from the other end of the room.

“Alright, mate?”

Bodie looked at Doyle, sprawled supine on the sofa, with concern.

Doyle, bearing an uncharacteristic resemblance to a rabbit caught in headlights, blinked furiously for a moment.

“Apart from you interrupting me forty winks you mean?”, the note of complaint more like the Doyle he knew and loved. Not that Bodie was going to share that nugget with the stroppy sod anytime soon. He flexed his fingers in his driving gloves again.

Doyle swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on Bodie's hands.

Bodie watched the slow bob of his partner's Adam's apple in his throat, so transfixed by the motion he almost missed the brightness in Doyle's eyes, the tiny flush high on his cheeks and the bulge of arousal in those too-tight jeans.

Ah, like that is it, sunshine?, he thought, fighting to stop a grin splitting his face.

“Well, I'm not carrying you to the car and those offices won't burgle themselves. Rise and shine, petal...”

Doyle rolled his eyes, but swung his legs off the sofa and pushed himself into a sitting position.

Bodie crossed the floor and offered a hand to pull his partner upright. Doyle stared for a moment more at the black leather tight around Bodie's hand, and at the tantalising patches of pale skin revealed by the gaps across the back of his hand, before clasping it in his own and allowing Bodie to pull him up. He stumbled slightly and Bodie brought his other hand up to catch him.

“Got up too quickly,” he said, embarrassed.

Bodie clicked his tongue cheerfully and gave him a wink. “Don't worry about it, Ray.” He waggled his eyebrows comically. “I'm very good with me 'ands...”

He lightly cuffed his partner's curls and headed for the door, a broad smile on his face at the intriguing possibilities which had opened up in the last two minutes.

***

**Rip it up...**

Doyle cursed softly to himself and wondered where the hell their back-up had got to.

The urge to come out, gun blazing, was huge. But so were the four thugs who were holding Bodie, and as they were, so far, busy gloating at his partner rather than injuring him, he was holding his position in the hope that the cavalry would appear sooner rather than later.

Bodie, of course, was giving them his best stoically bored face. Doyle was too far away too see, but he'd have bet 50p there would be a faint, disdainful sneer curling his partner's lips too.

A door banged open at the far end of the empty factory floor and a pot-bellied man with a badly fitting toupee and mismatched moustache strolled towards the group.

“He won't tell us who he is, Mr Gardiner,” said one of the thugs.

Gardiner spat noisily on to the concrete floor and turned to consider his prisoner. “Cat got your tongue eh, lad? Well, I have a different kind of cat, s'very good at helping people to be more forthcoming...”

He spoke to another of his men, one whose nose seemed to have been pushed sideways on his face. “Get it.”

The man nodded and walked out of Doyle's sight for a moment. When he returned he was holding something long and dark in his hands.

Gardiner looked at the two men holding Bodie and tipped his chin at them. “Let's have 'im then.”

The men spun Bodie round and pushed him up against the wall. Once he was securely pinned, the third man stepped in and ripped the back of Bodie's white shirt from hem to collar, exposing a broad expanse of flawless skin over well-defined muscles that for a second took Doyle's breath away.

Then his heart was in his throat, a rising horror in his guts as he realised what Gardiner's 'cat' was and what he intended to do to Bodie's beautiful back.

The first man raised his arm, the tail of the whip hanging free, and stepped closer to Bodie, who was squirming in his captors' grip now.

“Oi! Drop it!”

The five men turned as one towards Doyle's shout, three of them reaching for handguns. Bodie took advantage of the distraction and pushed away from the wall, wresting his right hand free and slamming it into the abdomen of the man still clinging to his left arm. Winded, the man fell to the floor and began crawling towards the front door allowing Bodie to turn his full attention to the other man, feet and fists flying.

He heard Gardiner's men start shooting at his partner, and Doyle returning fire. By the time he'd knocked out his assailant two of the thugs had been hit and only Gardiner was still fighting. Bodie snatched up a gun from the floor and aimed it at the cartel boss's head.

“What's new, pussycat?” he drawled.

Gardiner swung his gun in Bodie's direction just as Doyle's bullet slammed into his shoulder. He yelled, dropped his gun and collapsed back against a stack of pallets, clutching his wound.

Bodie kicked the weapon out of Gardiner's reach as Doyle jogged up to join him.

“Alright?”

“Took your time, didn't you?”

Doyle inclined his head. “Thought you soldier boys were good at standing still for hours on end? Isn't that how the Army teaches you discipline?”

“Yeah, well. The discipline he was about to dish out isn't my style,” said Bodie, with a sniff. He threw an arm around Doyle's shoulder. “Not without a safe word anyway.”

He heard Doyle swallow and let a small smile creep on to his lips.

***

**Come when you call**

“I'm sorry, sir,” said Murphy, “We've been right through the woods. If he's in there he's not coming out.”

Cowley threw a sceptical look over his glasses at the apologetic-looking agent stood in front of his desk.

“He'll come. We just need to send the right man for the job.”

*

“I can't believe you pulled me from me sickbed for this.”

“Cowley's orders. We've tried everything else.”

Doyle sighed, wound down the window, put two fingers in his mouth and produced a piercing whistle that made Murphy wince.

“Now what?”

Doyle shut the window before fiddling with the car seat and laying it back as far as it would go. “We wait. Well, you wait. I get some shuteye.”

*

Fifteen minutes later Murphy gave Doyle a gentle shake.

“Look what the cat dragged in.”

Bodie was stomping through the bracken and brambles towards the car.

Even dressed head to toe in his army camo, face streaked black and brown with mud and god-knows-what-else, ill-temper radiating from every pore, Bodie was, Doyle allowed himself to admit, a sight for sore eyes after a week confined to a lonely hospital bed.

He levered the seat back up, wound down the window once more and leaned nonchalantly on the door.

Bodie dropped his rucksack unceremoniously on the ground next to the car. “You're still alive then?”

“You could sound _slightly_ more pleased about it. Especially when I've been dragged from me sickbed just to get you back in the fold.”

"What happened to 'take the rest of the week off, laddie, you've earned it'?"

Doyle spread his hands. "The Cow giveth, the Cow taketh away ... Come on, sunshine, he's got a sniff of whisky with your name on it waiting for you."

Bodie pulled a face but opened the back door, slung his rucksack on the seat and got in beside it. He tapped Murphy on the shoulder and, in his most imperious voice, said, "Home, James."

***

**The thin blue line**

“D'you think he gets a kick out of dressing us up?” Bodie stared gloomily into the full-length mirror.

“What? Like his own personal Action Men?” Doyle stood back to run an appraising eye over his partner. “I can see the resemblance,” he said.

Bodie snorted and pulled a face.

Doyle stepped in and turned Bodie to face him, straightening his epaulettes and brushing away imagined specks from the police constable's uniform rather than meeting his eye as he spoke, “Yeah, that haircut, those chiselled features, the man of steel physique – you're a dead ringer, mate.”

Bodie's breath caught in his chest. Doyle's hands stilled, resting on Bodie's lapels, “You'll have the birds eating out of your hands, mate. They love a man in uniform.”

I don't want the birds, thought Bodie, I haven't wanted a bird in months. I want you. Even starched and buttoned up in that poxy copper's uniform. The thought of slowly undoing each of the buttons on Doyle's jacket, loosening the knot of his tie and stripping him out of that pristine white shirt had him half-hard and extremely grateful for the relatively loose fit of the uniform trousers. He caught Doyle's eye and opened his mouth to finally tell his partner exactly what he thought of him.

The changing room door opened. Cowley walked in, nose in a file. Doyle started dusting down his own jacket and Bodie could only mourn a missed opportunity.

***

**Slippery when wet**

They hauled themselves on to the river bank as quietly as possible and rolled into a nearby bush to catch their breath. The moon was waxing full and its silvery light allowed Doyle to surreptitiously enjoy the view.

Bodie suited black. From tuxedos to his cat-burglaring outfit, Bodie made them all look a million dollars. Apparently he could make a wetsuit look good too. The moonlight was making his wet skin glisten in a way that Doyle was finding increasingly alluring. The ruffled damp hair wasn't helping matters. Even the water drops escaping down his cheeks were fascinating.

Bodie continued to stare at the boat moored on the other side of the river.

“How long did you...” he started to say, but the timer reached zero, the plastic explosive went kaboom and the gun-runner's boat was turned into matchsticks.

Bodie's face broke into a gleeful, childlike grin and it was all Doyle could do not to clasp it in his hands and kiss those smiling lips until dawn.

“That's our cue, Cinderella,” said Bodie, “Let's get out of here before we turn into pumpkins.”

***

**Forever in blue jeans**

Bodie stood beside the rumpled double bed. He had been surprised, and secretly pleased, to find only a single occupant. He was sure Doyle had been out on a date with Rachel last night. The temptation to inflict the rudest awakening possible on him was strong – the git had roused him ungently from slumber on more occasions than he could recall – but for now he was content to admire the lean torso, prone on the sheets, and the fey beauty of that sculpted face.

Bodie sat carefully on the empty side of the bed, one hand hovering near the soft warm skin of Doyle's back. As he placed his palm gently between Doyle's shoulder blades his RT bleeped noisily in his pocket. He snatched his hand back as Doyle sat bolt upright and threw himself out of bed giving Bodie an eyeful of perfect, naked arse that made him bite his lip. Before Bodie could speak, Doyle was pulling on his jeans, sliding them over his shapely bum and carefully doing them up.

The RT bleeped again. Doyle spun round, a frown creasing his brow until he realised what the source of the noise was. Bodie gave him a smile and a delicate, wiggly fingered wave with one hand while retrieving the RT with the other.

“3.7.”

“3.7, where are you? Have you found 4.5 yet?”

Bodie rolled his eyes at Doyle.

“Yes, sir, just collecting him now. Thought I'd let him put some clothes on before I brought him in though. He looks ready for the 100 metre hurdles at Lords at the moment."

“Aye, well. Be in my office in 20 minutes. I've got a job for you two.”

“Understood, Alpha One. 3.7 out.”

He stuffed the RT back inside his jacket. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty, before the Cow feeds me to the dragons.”

Doyle's head emerged from the neck of a T-shirt. “Sleeping Beauty got woken by a kiss, not His Master's Voice snapping over the airwaves.”

“If it'll get you into the car any quicker, I'll give you a kiss.”

Doyle stilled, socks in one hand, looking across at Bodie, perched like a virgin bride on the edge of his bed, and felt his chest constrict.

“Least you can do I'd say.” His mouth was dry and his voice was thick. Bodie stared at him, mouth open, eyes wide.

Fuck, thought Doyle, didn't mean to say that out loud. He closed his eyes, trying desperately to think of something he could say to salvage their partnership. A warm breath ghosted over his cheek. He opened his eyes. Bodie was standing toe to toe with him, leaning in and hovering his lips above Doyle's skin. Doyle gave a small, quiet gasp as Bodie pressed warm, dry lips to a stubbled cheek.

Bodie pulled himself upright again, dark eyes searching his partner's face for a reaction. “Okay now, princess?”

Doyle nodded and then frowned. “That's not how they do it in the fairy tales though.”

Bodie raised a quizzical eyebrow. “What? You want the whole dragon-slaying, thorn-bush-slashing nine-yards as well? There's no pleasing some people...”

Doyle fixed him with a look. “No, I meant, that's not how the kiss goes.”

“Oh,” said Bodie, “well. If you insist.”

He brought his hands up to caress his partner's face and pressed his lips to Doyle's. They were soft, warm and yielding under his own. He felt Doyle slide one hand on to his waist and the other to his neck and brushed his own fingers against Doyle's throat.

He felt as much as heard the small, contented moan this provoked and touched the tip of his tongue against Doyle's lips. Suddenly Doyle's tongue was invading his mouth, exploring and teasing, sending thrills straight down his spine to his groin.

He pulled Doyle closer, dropping one hand on to that perfect arse and pushing one finger along the central seam of his jeans. Doyle groaned and ground his erection into Bodie's, walking him backwards until their legs hit the bed and they fell untidily on to the mattress.

Bodie faked a look of horror, “What sort of girl do you take me for, Doyle?”

Doyle looked sceptical. “I know exactly what sort of girl you are, Bodie,” he said and kissed his partner slow and hard, a statement of obscene intent.

He broke away and gazed at Bodie, hair unusually ruffled, cheeks flushed, lips pink and kiss-bitten. “Ah, Bodie.” He sighed. “You sure about this?”

Bodie grinned up at him. “Never been more sure of anything, mate. I...” He was interrupted by a bleep from his jacket pocket. He closed his eyes. Simultaneously, one word crossed their minds. 'Fuck'.

Bodie carefully extricated the RT, composed a straight face and clicked it on. “3.7.”

He braced himself for Cowley's scolding.

“Change of plan, 3.7. I've been called in to Whitehall for an urgent meeting with the minister. I will see you and 4.5 in my office in an hour. Okay?”

“Er, yes, sir.”

“Good. Don't be late. Alpha One out.”

Bodie carefully turned the RT off and dropped it on to the bed.

“God and the Cow move in mysterious ways,” he said, beaming at Doyle. “So, d'you wanna find out exactly what sort of girl I am?”

Doyle looked into the dark blue eyes glittering mischievously up at him and felt his heart fold in two.

“I already told you, sunshine,” he said, sliding off Bodie, on to his knees and deftly undoing his partner's button and zip, “I know _exactly_ what sort of a girl you are.”

He pulled the trousers open and leaned down to huff warm breath over the single layer of fabric that lay between him and Bodie's cock. He heard Bodie's head and hands hit the mattress and breathed another wash of hot air over Bodie's groin before easing the trousers and pants down his muscled thighs.

Doyle dipped his head to give the inside of a thigh one tiny, darting lick, and then another, tracing his way closer to Bodie's balls. He breathed in deeply, the musky scent making his own cock uncomfortably hard inside his jeans, and began to press sloppy kisses to the soft skin. Bodie moaned and Doyle smiled as he shifted to continue his kisses along Bodie's hard cock. He lapped at the pre-cum that had leaked onto Bodie's stomach while massaging his balls.

“Christ!” hissed Bodie, arching off the bed and sliding his fingers into Doyle's curls.

Doyle wrapped his right hand around the base of Bodie's cock and his mouth around the rest. The salty tang of pre-cum spread across his tongue as he licked Bodie's silk-smooth skin. He drew back, flicked his tongue against the head of Bodie's cock and then swallowed the hard flesh again, hollowing his cheeks and thrilling at the soft curses it pulled from Bodie's mouth.

Bodie's fingers were hard against his scalp as he licked and sucked, twisting his right hand and squeezing Bodie's rump with his left. Somewhere above him, Bodie managed a husky warning "Ray...", but Doyle just sucked a little harder until Bodie came, with a cry, in his mouth.

When coherent thought had returned to his brain, Bodie pushed himself up on his elbows and gazed at Doyle, still on his knees and returning his look with an intensity that opened a black hole inside his chest.

Bodie indicated the empty half of the bed next to him with a lean of his head. “Care to join me, sunbeam?”

Doyle grinned and used Bodie's legs to push himself upright. Bodie's eyes were drawn to the conspicuous bulge in his partner's jeans.

“I can't take you in to Cowley looking like that,” he said. “I'd be breaking some kind of obscenity law.”

Doyle raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question.

"I've got a public duty to..." The rest of the sentence was lost as Doyle dropped on to the bed beside Bodie and caught his mouth in a deep, hard kiss.

Bodie slid his hands on to Doyle's hips and then to the front of his jeans. He felt Doyle's sigh of relief in his mouth as he finally undid the buttons and freed Doyle's cock from the confines of the denim. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft and gave a lazy pull - Doyle's moan and grind of hips going straight to his own cock. 

He pulled away from Doyle's kiss with difficulty and said thickly, "Fuck me, Ray."

Doyle stilled, scrutinised his partner's face for a long moment and, presumably happy with what he saw, grinned, winked and leaned down to breathe huskily in Bodie's ear, "My pleasure, sunshine." A shiver of anticipation ran down Bodie's spine.

Doyle freed himself from Bodie's embrace to fish a small tube out of his bedside drawer and wriggle out of his jeans. He patted the pillows. "Let's be 'aving you then, mate."

Bodie had pulled off the rest of his clothes and was making his way up the bed. He was already half-hard again as he reached Doyle and pulled his T-shirt off. He dipped his head to tease Doyle's nipple with the tip of his tongue, gratified at the instant hardness in the dark nub of flesh. 

Doyle cursed softly and tried to concentrate on getting the lube on to his fingers and cock. Bodie, amused, licked the other nipple too.

"It's your own time you're wasting," Doyle said sternly. Bodie attempted to look penitent. Doyle dipped to capture his partner's luscious lips, kissing him with the same determination he applied to everything else in life. He dropped his hand between Bodie's legs and slid one lubricated finger inside - his desire stoked more fiercely than ever by the guttural noise Bodie made in response. 

Two, then three fingers later, Bodie was panting beneath him and his cock was achingly hard and leaking pre-cum on to Bodie's hip. He slipped his fingers out, smiling a little as Bodie chased after them, and slid his cock in instead. 

Doyle's breath caught in his throat at the wonderful, glorious, tight heat and the sight of Bodie sprawled beneath him, his own cock hard again against his belly. "Alright?"

"Fuck's sake move, Ray..."

Doyle smiled wickedly, leaned down to pull one more luxurious kiss from Bodie's mouth and started to move, carefully at first, then with more abandon, rolling and snapping his hips in a devastatingly efficient rhythm. Bodie closed his eyes and gave himself over to the tumbling wash of sensations; the delicious, full slide of Doyle inside him, the sheer ecstasy as his prostate was grazed, the rub of Doyle's skin against his cock, the satisfying press of his partner against him, Doyle's woody scent in his nostrils and his breathy incantations against his neck.

Doyle was panting hard against Bodie's throat, overwhelmed by pleasure and love, and - thrusting fast and deep - a hair's breadth from coming. A gasp from Bodie and a hot slick of cum on his stomach tipped him over the edge and he collapsed, utterly spent, into Bodie's arms.

*

Bodie pressed a kiss to Doyle's temple and ran a soothing finger back and forth in the small of his back, humming softly as his partner started to shift.

Doyle muttered something incomprehensible into Bodie's neck.

"What?"

"I said," Doyle lifted his head and shuffled himself so he could rest his chin on Bodie's chest, "you've got the wrong bleedin' film. That's Snow White, not Sleeping Beauty."

Bodie smirked at him. "Yeah, but this one's more..." He paused to consider, "...apposite, don't you think?"

Doyle rolled himself off Bodie and the bed. "Come on, Prince Charming. Shower. Now. Or the Cow will be explaining why our P45s are _apposite."_

Bodie sighed. "He wouldn't sack us, Ray. Might give us six months of pointless obbos in the coldest, dampest locations inside the M25 though..."

Doyle was already heading towards the bathroom. "Wouldn't that contravene the Geneva convention? As a cruel and unusual punishment?"

Bodie was following him now. "Nah, you're forgetting..." He affected a terrible Scottish accent, "The department owns you.  _I_  own you. You are never off-duty! I can sell your body to science if I want... while it's still alive."

Doyle rolled his eyes. "All the more reason we shouldn't be late then. I don't want science getting hold of your body until I've finished with it."

Bodie leered at him through the bathroom doorway. Doyle turned on the taps for the shower and gestured for Bodie to step into the bath. "Get in or you'll be sleeping alone tonight."

Bodie camped the short distance from door to bath. "I love it when you're masterful!"

Doyle looked unimpressed and inclined his head towards the running water. As Bodie finally stepped into the tub, Doyle leaned over and breathed in his ear, "Just remember which of us came away from our previous job with a spare set of handcuffs, sunshine. And don't forget to wash behind your ears..."

**To be continued...**

 

 


End file.
